


why don't we pretend?

by riahk



Series: (bring me a) higher love [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/M, Flirting, Illustrations, Mirror Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk
Summary: "At this point, I think we ought to accept that destiny is conspiring to bring us together," Sylvain says, his hand brushing along a rack of colorful dresses as he steps further inside. Destiny, in this case, being the persistent overlapping of their respective aspects: nowhere was the marriage of music and love, desire and lust more apparent than in the glamorous productions of the Enbarr cabaret.She watches her fellow immortal approach with flirtatious fascination. "Perhaps we should," she begins, her lips quirking upward. "But why has destiny brought you to this room, exactly? There's no love for you to chase after here."Sylvain intercepts her coy smirk with a bright smile of his own, slouching forward so their faces are inches apart. "We'll see about that."Dorothea has been the goddess of music and mortal desire for a long time, but her old human life still finds ways to haunt her. Sylvain can't say the same, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to pretend.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: (bring me a) higher love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207835
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	why don't we pretend?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with more deity AU content, this time with my favorite rarepair! As the summary says, Dorothea is a goddess of music and mortal desire. Sylvain is the god of love, lust and facade... I think you can see where this is going. ;)
> 
> Also, this fic includes a lovely illustration by Felia (@feliahanakata on twitter), big thank you to her for that! Please check her art out!

"We absolutely _must_ stop meeting like this, Sylvain."

Dorothea twists the lipstick bottle shut with a delicate flick of her fingers. Scarlet color — the same now drawn across her pretty little mouth — retreats into its gold casing, and she sets it down on the table beside compacts of blush, boxes of false lashes and eyeshadow palettes encompassing every shade of the rainbow. Mirrors hang like shimmering paintings on the dark walls of the dressing room, their frames lined with glass bulbs that illuminate Dorothea's perfectly decorated face and cast her seated figure in soft shadows. With her elaborate costume and the theatrical flair of her words, she looks perfectly at home against this particular backdrop, despite the fact that the name embroidered across the back of the chair is not hers.

"At this point, I think we ought to accept that destiny is conspiring to bring us together," Sylvain says, his hand brushing along a rack of colorful dresses as he steps further inside. Destiny, in this case, being the persistent overlapping of their respective aspects: nowhere was the marriage of music and love, desire and lust more apparent than in the glamorous productions of the Enbarr cabaret. Whether onstage or off, the capital's nighttime venues drew in actors and audience members alike with its charade of song and dance — and the romance and carnal pleasure such performances tended to inspire.

She watches her fellow immortal approach with flirtatious fascination, setting her elbow delicately on the arm of her chair and resting her chin in her hand inquisitively. "Perhaps we should," she begins, her lips quirking upward. "But why has destiny brought you to this room, exactly? There's no love for you to chase after here."

Sylvain intercepts her coy smirk with a bright smile of his own, slouching forward so their faces are inches apart. "We'll see about that," he says, straightening back to his full height and taking a slow stroll around the room. He seems fully enamored with the tools of disguise surrounding them: the row of wigs lining a shelf, the great feathery fans and glittering bodysuits. "I'm surprised to find you in here, though. You know the show is down the hall, right? Well, down and to the left, actually."

"Clever," Dorothea replies flatly, sliding out of her seat and stepping closer to the vanity. Her eyes scan across the cache of makeup, inhaling the clean smell of it, and flashes of memory play in an instant across her mind. "I've seen this show plenty of times already. I came in here to relax," she says. Her gaze shifts to the mirror and she spots Sylvain in the opposite corner of the room, sizing himself up against a particularly revealing leotard set. Irritation twitches at her temple upon seeing him ignore her so blatantly.

Her dark hair twirls and the loose folds of her dress swish in the air as she spins abruptly around to look at him. "Also," she says, projecting her voice directly to Sylvain's ear. He perks up, directs his attention satisfyingly back to Dorothea. "Spending time here reminds me of when I was mortal."

He watches her from across the room, tilts his head in curiosity. Then he deposits the costume to the rack with a decisive, metallic clack and strides back across the room, warm brown eyes alight. He looks but does not speak, an unsettling combination for him. Dorothea swallows, decides to fill the silence. "What? Are you going to pretend you didn't know that? Make up something about how I 'shine as brightly as a true-born god'?"

His footsteps slow as he gets closer, his usual wandering eye maintaining contact with her scrutinizing pupils. "I wasn't," he says with a shrug. "But I doubt you believe me."

"It would be foolish to trust a god known to readily lie when the situation suits him."

If the accusation cuts his ego, Sylvain hides the wound well. He dodges her distraction easily, staying focused on the teasing trail of information she's left for him. "Your mortal life, huh? I don't think you've had the opportunity to tell me that story," he says, leaning against the arm of her chair.

Dorothea was not expecting him to be so persistent, though she's unsure why Sylvain's insatiable lust for knowledge did not occur to her. "Of how I became a goddess?" she asks wistfully, scanning the room. "It's long and unexciting."

"I would listen."

Of course he would. He's only ever known the infinite, has no true concept of time. Dorothea still remembers what it was like to be human, all that time ago, even if those memories have been worn down like a smoothed river stone by the harsh currents of divinity. Still, they are settled into the corners of her mind like the remnants of an elaborate dream.

"Maybe another time," she says, ready to combat his persuasions.

But he concedes respectfully, to her surprise. "Fine," he says, holding his hands up in faux surrender. Then the questions resume — he's not letting her off that easily. "Could you at least tell me what it was like to be human? Just a taste. I'm so curious."

She thinks there are other things of hers he'd rather taste instead, knowing his reputation. Dorothea also thinks it's time they talk about him. "I'll tell you one thing, Sylvain. In life and beyond, you have been a constant source of haunting."

Something dark flashes across his face, something she thinks might be genuine surprise, and true curiosity. "Should I know something about this haunting? It's true I can have the occasional… _strained_ relationship with a mortal." She knows this, too. "But I think I would have remembered you," he adds. The compliment is nice, harmless enough, regardless of whether he means it. No, Dorothea's haunting is something more fundamental than sweet, but insincere, nothings.

"You are quite the popular god, Sylvain," she begins. "Love is something everyone wants. What I wanted, a long time ago."

He narrows his eyes and there's that flicker of shadow again, like she has brushed against the edge of a hidden barb. She thinks he's going to say something, but he lets her continue. "I remember the couples who would pray to you, to bless their union," she says with some fondness. It turns to something like contempt a moment later. "And the spurned lovers who would curse your name."

Sylvain smiles guiltily, but she sees a question strike him. "And you, Dorothea? Did you ever pray to me?"

She's been anticipating this. "No. I never liked to put my destiny in a higher power."

The laugh he tries to suppress was anticipated, too. "Ironic," Sylvain replies coolly, gaze dropping to the floor. His chest rises and falls in slow, thoughtful breaths, and when he looks at her again his eyes are soft, drawing her to them. Sylvain takes a step forward, closing the distance.

"Well, would you like to pray to me now?"

Dorothea feels irritation surge through her, morph suddenly into anger. She grits her teeth and Sylvain lets out a cry of discomfort, holding his head as discordant noise grinds in his ears. The harsh sound only lasts a moment before Dorothea manages to reign in the feeling, but it is enough for him to take several steps back, to look at her with surprise and understanding defeat. "Right, right, sorry," he says, one hand still massaging his temple.

She catches her breath. "No, I'm sorry. I'm not truly angry at you, just…"

He looks at her timidly. "I usually deserve it," he says. After taking a moment to recover, his ravenous interest returns. "Back to business… you said you wanted love, once. What happened?"

There isn't much left to tell, but maybe a god of love can understand where others haven't. "I saw the mayhem wrought by people in the name of love," she says, turning around to take another look at the clutter of makeup, the bright colors and pretty trinkets. "When I was mortal, I spent a lot of time in places like these." Her fingers run along the smooth wood. "And people adored me, or at least an image of me. To them, it was love, and they went to such great lengths to win me over." The mirror lights suddenly feel harsh, like the spotlight she remembers.

Sylvain crosses his arms behind her; she catches the movement in the reflection. "You never experienced it yourself, though," he guesses. "Not before you became a god, anyway."

Dorothea shakes her head. "Well, I still haven't, even as a god," she explains. "Affection, sex, yes, but not love. Not the kind I used to sing about on the stage."

"You act like it's too late to fall in love, Dorothea," Sylvain chides. "But you're immortal. You have forever. You could experience a thousand loves, god or mortal—"

"It's different," she snaps, chin lowering sharply, and she sees him wince in anticipation of more noise. Her voice softens, her hands tensing and relaxing nervously. "I know you don't get it, because you were never mortal. Not even you could understand the full extent and depth of how human desire works, Sylvain."

He seems to understand that he does not know, at least. "Fair," he says. "It's your eternal life. I won't judge." Dorothea watches him now, taking cautious steps closer. His face hovers just behind and above hers, their reverse images locking eyes through the glass. He is chiseled perfectly, like a doll, like a made up actor. "But maybe, if you wanted, I could help you pretend."

The lights in the room appear to flicker for a moment, the low ceiling and narrow walls closing in on them. Dorothea is suddenly overcome by the same curiosity Sylvain is so inclined towards, lips curving upward as she continues to hold his gaze through the mirror. "That could be fun," she says, the reality of her divinity making itself known in the form of a rushing sensation playing over her skin.

But there's still something concerning her as he sidles up behind her, head rocking from side to side. "Sylvain…" she warns, eyes flicking toward the entrance. They can't get ‘caught’ in here, per se, but it would certainly ruin the mood to have an unassuming mortal intrude on their private moment. He hushes her, gives her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

"Relax. I played a little trick on the door when I arrived," he says. "Can't really walk into a room that you can't see." One hand slides down her back, palms smoothing light circles over her waist and the jut of her hip. Dorothea meets the touch with her own, resting fingers over his knuckles and pressing her back up against his bare chest, bodies interlocking. Sylvain dips his face to her ear, his breath coming out in a thin, hissing line. "You know I would do anything for you, Dorothea," he whispers, tightening his grip on her side. She swallows as his lips press warmly to her neck, grinding herself further against his lower half and feeling the way he stiffens.

His words are meant for show, but Dorothea enjoys them anyway, wants to play along herself. "Such devotion makes my heart sing, Sylvain." Her arms lift up to touch his face, ruffle his hair, all the while keeping their torsos flush against each other and turning hot with the contact. Sylvain's hand moves upward along her ribcage, teasing at the loose fabric of her dress and freeing one of her ample breasts, then the other. His hands make quick work of them, massaging the soft curves, his cheek pressed against her temple as he breathes in the scent of her hair.

She can see herself in the mirror, the way Sylvain dotes on her, caresses her. He is showing her what it's like to be loved. "I'm glad to please you, dear," he coos. "And do I have your devotion, too?" he asks, just as Dorothea feels him press his chest against her upper back, tilting her body toward the vanity until she is nearly bent over.

Scarlet lips pucker at him through the reflection. "You do," she breathes, hands leaving the warmth of his body to grip cool wood in front of her, bracing herself. Sylvain giggles in her ear before straightening, admiring her compromising position for a moment before continuing. Slowly he hikes up her skirt, running his hands along her upper thigh and cupping her ass. Dorothea moans softly at the touch, feels the heat pooling at her core.

Sylvain's hand creeps around to her front, inching closer and closer to her folds as Dorothea lets her desire build. He tilts his head curiously, catching her eye in the mirror. "Is that… music?" he asks, head swimming dreamily.

Dorothea hums affirmatively. She can hear it, too, of course, the bright notes of a piano manifesting from her pleasure. "You're making me quite happy, it seems," she says. "I just might— oh!" Her words bridge into another moan, a happy sigh that shakes her body as Sylvain finally reaches her cunt, fingers turning slick as he makes quick work of her clit. The music gets louder, more instruments joining the symphony.

"What an absolutely beautiful sound," he replies, the bulge in his pants pressing against her and only getting her more excited. He slips a finger inside, then two, three; each pump into her entrance is followed by a crescendo. "And what a beautiful feeling, too," he adds. "Miss Dorothea… would you give me the pleasure of letting me fuck you?"

She arches her back, grips the edge of the vanity harder and rides his fingers. "Of course," she says. "Let's compose a new song together, shall we?"

There is a brief pause, the clink of metal as Sylvain sheds his clothing. Then, a thick and tantalizing pressure as he teases his length against Dorothea's cunt, withdrawing his fingers to steady her hips. "And I'll show you how the god of love lives up to his name," he growls as he enters her slowly, relishing the melodic whine Dorothea makes, her heady sigh.

As he pumps into her their voices mingle with the melody twirling around them, its rhythm changing to match the beat of their bodies together. Dorothea grinds enthusiastically against him as he moves, her attention shifting again to their images in the mirror. "Such a passionate face, Sylvain," she says, admiring the way he flushes, smiles, then fucks her harder.

"Do I?" he asks teasingly, lowering down to plant kisses against her shoulder blades and the base of her neck. "You're looking pretty enthralled in lust yourself."

"I thought this was about love," she says with a laugh, shivering as Sylvain's teeth tug lightly at her ear.

He continues to accelerate, his hand moving between her legs again. "The lines tend to blur." Dorothea hums, her pitch rising as his fingers target her pleasure centers, moving with enthusiastic intent. "You're close," he says with certainty, no questioning lilt — of course he would be able to tell. "I am too," he adds, his breath growing ragged.

"Perfect," Dorothea sings, beginning the steady climb to her peak. There is no more talking after this, only music; their song enters its final movement, an eclectic combination of blending motifs and scaling concertos that nonetheless manages to weave into a single, harmonious piece. Sylvain and Dorothea breathe heavily, desperately, intoxicated by their shared performance.

When they both finish, the orchestral rendition does not immediately end; it slows naturally with the lithe movements of their bodies, the lingering hands and quiet sighs as they bask in afterglow. Dorothea straightens as Sylvain pulls out of her, a finger twirling through her hair as she exhales sleepily, stretching relaxed muscles before turning around to face him.

They've been watching each other in the mirror so long it's almost strange to look at him head-on, like her eyes have to adjust to the man standing before her, so close and real she can touch him. Which Dorothea does, her hand reaching out hesitantly to cup Sylvain's cheek, another running along the skin of his chest. "You were fantastic," he whispers, his fingers curling around her wrists as he pulls her closer, meeting her in a slow, sensual kiss.

Sex is one thing, but Sylvain's lips on hers give Dorothea an entirely different sensation, more personal and deliberate. Music plays around them again but it is slower, moodier, like a feeling she cannot quite place. "As were you," she says as they part, finally, and she pushes the mystery aside for another time. Then, on a whim, she kisses him again.

"My, my," Sylvain replies after. "That good, huh?"

"You can sense love between both mortals and gods, correct?" Dorothea asks, ignoring the coquettish way Sylvain is looking at her.

He answers quickly, dully, like he's been asked this a million times before. "Yes. Love between mortals, between gods, between both…"

She waves him off, eyes bright with another thought taking hold. "But if someone fell in love with _you_ , would you know?"

This time Sylvain takes a longer moment, pondering. "I don't think anyone has ever asked me that before," he muses, knuckles tapping against his chin. "But no, I don't think I would. Even gods have blind spots, after all." Then, he looks at her with an impish grin. "Why do you ask? Have you, perhaps, fallen in love with me?"

Dorothea rolls her eyes, looks away with a scoff. "You wish," she tells him. "But maybe, if you play your cards right…"

They part ways shortly after that as the show beyond the dressing room comes to a close, as the evening transforms into its usual cacophony of mortals dancing and flirting and holding secret rendezvous in the dark corners and back rooms. It is a farewell of teases and smiles and a silent understanding that this could very well happen again. That they'd both very much love to keep pretending.

But Sylvain's answer to Dorothea's question sticks in her head, even when she returns to the heavens. A god of love who can see threads of romance everywhere, except when those lines are tangled up in him; the concept is fascinating, even operatic, she thinks. She remembers that dark glimmer, the fascination with the unknown in his eyes, dangerous and tempting and the one thing she most wants to witness again.

As she falls asleep, Dorothea dreams about Sylvain, about the terrifying prospect of falling in love. And how, if she could be the one to surprise him, then the fear might just be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want more info on this specific AU's pantheon, I urge you to check out the project here: https://fe3hdeityzine.crd.co/#pantheon


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